Being Human
by ruerox11
Summary: Fallen!Cas is struggling to cope with life as a human being. Sam and Dean suggest exposure to pop culture, starting with TV, but that's absolutely ridiculous because there's no way a show exists that could teach someone how to be- wait, what? (A TFW fic, Destiel if you really, really squint. Commissioned by tumblr user sassbutt-of-the-garrison. T for language.)


_Being Human_

_Commissioned (and more or less demanded) by S. Bell_

_._

"Look, Cas," Dean had explained, sitting down next to him on the sofa. "It's not that hard. Just…" And he starts to explain how to _double click on this_, _type in n-e-t and the website will already pop up right there, see? So click on that, and it takes you here, and you can pick from pretty much every movie and TV show in history and you can watch whatever sounds interesting… ooh, but not that. Dude, that's totally a chick movie._

Dean and Sam are going on a wendigo hunt in for several days and are leaving Cas in an obscure Montana motel room with a large supply of food, angelic warding sigils and devil's traps at every door, and Sam's laptop with Netflix queued up.

He has, of course, no idea how to use any of it.

Cas wishes more than anything that he could help Sam and Dean on their hunt. He hates this awful feeling of uselessness he'd felt since he'd fallen. He'd been so strong, so powerful. The angel Castiel, chosen one of Heaven. Now? He was a useless wimp who was in _completely _over his head in this giant, confusing world.

Scrolling through what Dean called 'Netflix', Cas felt like he was wasting his time. There was absolutely no way that there would be a show to help him, as the Winchesters said, "learn to adjust." Sure, because other people had been through what he was being forced through. Cas was pretty sure his situation was unique. Really, how was television supposed to teach him how to be human? It's not like there was a show that-

Hang on. What?

Cas scrolls back to the show he just passed, _Being Human_, and wonders why the universe likes irony so damn much.

.

Castiel isn't too human that he needs to sleep, but he still manages to be human enough to fall completely in love with a television show.

He's not sure if he wants to tell the Winchesters about his profound bond with a werewolf, vampire, and a ghost, as that goes slightly against their principles, so when they return a mere two days later after a relatively easy hunt and ask how he's been, he simply answers, "Fine."

But when Sam gets out of the shower half an hour later, now free of blood and dirt, and asks Cas for his computer back, he can't help but shout "_No!_" somewhat (sort of) [quite] desperately.

He's not sure why he's so attached to these characters after so little time. He's only watched the first season and about half of the second, and it was slow going because he stopped to use the Google the Winchesters relied so heavily on to look up all of the references. But he's satisfied he understands the concepts of the show, and they're so much easier to understand than this life he's living now.

He understands the anger, the desperation, the loneliness, the impossible yet necessary need to fit in. He understands what these beautiful, wonderful characters are going through because he's _right there alongside them_. And somehow, even though these three flatmates aren't real, he's so happy to know that there's someone in the same boat as he is.

Sam and Dean are staring at him now, but he doesn't know how to offer them any explanation without seeming ridiculous.

What if they laughed at him for enjoying the show? What if they wanted to watch it and didn't like it? _What if they made him stop watching it because the main characters were monsters like the ones they hunted?!_

Sam, completely oblivious to the silent battle going on inside Cas's head, could only see his friend's eyes widening more and more every second and his breath picking up. Castiel looked like he was having some sort of panic attack at the thought of being separated from Sam's laptop. He hastened to calm him down.

"Hey, man, it's okay. I don't really need it; I can do my research at the library."

Cas starts to calm down. "Okay," he states shortly, still clutching the laptop like a lifeline.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You really like Netflix, huh, Cas?"

Cas's eyes meet his, gigantic and owlish. "Yes, Dean. I really do."

He proceeds to curl up in the armchair in the corner, which is alright except for the large, suspiciously bloodlike stain down the back, and watch the next episode.

Dean looks over at him from time to time and finds the fallen angel completely enraptured.

He wonders vaguely what the _hell_ Cas is watching.

.

Several hours later, Sam is back from the library and Dean is hungry. He decides to initiate Step One in his newly formulated plan entitled _Figure Out What Cas is Watching on Netflix Because I'd Feel Really Bad if it Was Something Racy or Some Such Shit Because I Told Him He Could Watch Anything But I Really Don't Want Him Watching That Because Even Though I Took Him to a Brothel I Find This Quite Awkward and Uncomfortable and Now I Sound Like Him God Dammit._

Well, it's a work in progress.

"Hey, Cas," he calls out.

Cas figures out Dean is talking to him after the third time and extracts his headphones. "Yes, Dean?"

"Do you mind getting me a bag of chips from the vending machine down the hall? I'd get up, but, you know…" He smiles sheepishly, gesturing at the books surrounding him on the table that he's been pretending to read. "Doing some hardcore research over here."

Cas blinks once and then stands up. "Of course, Dean. Do you have the payment for the… vending machine?" he asks, both questioning the words and the fact that Dean would have money in his possession.

"Uh…" Dean scrambles to find money in his pockets while Sam rolls his eyes and hands Cas three dollar bills from his wallet.

"Just get three of them," he suggests, and Cas leaves the room.

Sam turns and bitchfaces at Dean. "Hardcore research?"

"Shut up," his brother snaps, suddenly irritated. "Don't tell me you're not worried."

Sam's face does that little twitchy jig where it can't tell exactly what it wants to do before it settles on an even expression and he nods. "I don't want to pry… but yeah. Definitely worried. Did you see the way he grabbed my laptop?"

"Like it was the freakin' Holy Grail," Dean mutters as he picks it up and inspects it. Upon looking at the Netflix history, his face falls drastically.

Sam doesn't know the last time he saw Dean so upset. He shuffles forward, almost afraid to see what Cas has been occupying himself with for the last three days. "Dean?"

Wordlessly, Dean turns the laptop around so Sam can see the words _Being Human_ lit up at least ten times on the bright screen.

Sam's heart drops to his feet. "Cas…"

.

When Cas returns to the room after twenty minutes and an inelegant row with the vending machine, he finds Sam and Dean on the couch, very subdued and looking like they're waiting for him. He shuts the door somewhat apprehensively, wandering closer.

"Is… everything alright?" he begins nervously.

He can tell how upset Dean is. Anxiety is practically radiating off of the hunter's skin. "Yeah, Cas, everything…" He swallows noticeably. "Everything's fine." Running his hand over his mouth and chin tiredly, like he can just pull the stress off, he asks Cas to sit.

So Cas sits.

Sam begins nervously, restlessly. "Look, Cas, we know how hard you've been trying to fit in."

Cas's heart sinks to somewhere around his knees.

"And we think you've been doing a really good job of assimilating, but-" Sam is cut off by Cas's sudden outburst.

"Do you think I'm not pulling my weight around here? Is that what this is?"

Misunderstanding Sam and Dean's confused and partially horrified expressions, he continues rapidly, "Of course that's what this is. I'm such an idiot. I'll start doing more, I promise! I haven't been contributing at all and I'm so sorry for letting you down. I didn't know if it was customary to do the washing up and I don't even know how to but I can try, and I don't think we even own a pair of marigolds but-"

Dean grabs his shoulders firmly. "Cas."

But Cas is inconsolable. "Please don't be mad at me, Dean, I'm really trying and I promise I'll be better-"

"CAS!"

Cas's jaw slams shut so quickly he can hear it click. He can't meet Dean's eyes. He just _knows_ he's let Dean and Sam down and now they'll probably hate him and it's all his fault he's such a bad human.

"Cas, buddy, we're not mad at you."

Whoa. Plot twist.

"You're not?" he repeats, looking at Dean directly for the first time. He's surprised to see nothing there but acceptance. Well, and blatant confusion.

"Nah, man," Dean says a shake of his head, and Cas starts to see the sun from behind the clouds.

Dean seems to suddenly realize how hard he's gripping Cas's shoulders and sits back quickly. "We just wanted to tell you that, you know, we're here for you." He fidgets in his seat uncomfortably and Cas realizes that they seem to be nearing what Dean calls a _chick-flick moment._ Any talk about emotions seems to make Dean very awkward.

"What I was trying to say," Sam picks up, not wanting to feel left out, "Is that we know it's been hard for you to learn how to be human. And we don't want you to feel alone, or that you're doing a bad job. So if you ever have any questions, or need help or advice, you know you can come to Dean and me, right?"

"Of course, Sam," Cas replies in his _don't ask stupid questions_ tone.

"We just don't want you to feel like you have to rely on some show to teach you how to fit in," Dean jumps in. "That's our job, y'know? Considering it's our fault you fell in the first place, it's the freaking least we can do."

Cas gives him his best glare, the one he knows Dean hates. "Dean, how many times have I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mutters, "Not our fault. Whatever." He looks away sullenly, clearly disagreeing.

Sam feels like Dean has successfully caused another Moment, and he decides to do his job as the interrupting moose and end it. "But you get what we're saying about the show, right, Cas?"

See, there it is again. The same panic he'd shown before, when he'd grabbed Sam's laptop and held on for dear life. The complete and utter distress.

"Are you saying you want me to stop watching _Being Human_?" the angel asks, somewhat hysterically. Nope, the sun is going back behind the clouds with increasing rapidity.

"No!" Sam quickly revises his statement. "No, it's not that at all. _Being Human_ obviously makes you… very happy, and we'd never want to take that away. We just wanted you to know that you don't have to rely on it for everything, you can still come to us for advice, okay?"

Cas relaxes considerably. "Okay."

There's a long pause.

Dean decides to break it. "So what were you talking about, anyway, with washing up and petunias or whatever?"

Cas blushes, actually _blushes_. "It's… nothing."

They wait.

"I mean, it's just something from. You know. _Being Human_."

They wait longer.

Cas feels like he shouldn't be so pressured by their staring, but seriously, they're freaking staring and it's making him uncomfortable.

So he blurts something like, "In the show. Annie and George tell Mitchell that he's not doing enough to help out around the house, and he gets angry and says he'll do the washing up, which I think you call 'doing the dishes' because you're American and it's a British show, and it's not petunias, Dean, it's marigolds, which are the gloves you wear when you're doing the washing up, and I guess they call them that because they're yellow or something but I don't know."

They're still staring.

Damn it, this is getting annoying.

But then Dean breaks out into peals of laughter. "God, man, your face."

"What about it?" Cas asks peevishly.

"You looked-" He breaks down laughing again, "You looked like you thought we were gonna shoot you or something if you told us about your show. Geez, man, it's just TV."

"Right," Cas states neutrally, obviously disagreeing. Sam rolls his eyes at them.

"Yeah, well, good talk." He pats Castiel on the back, which Cas reminds himself is a normal human gesture of friendship, and walks back to his research.

Now it's just Cas and Dean looking at each other.

Eventually, Dean says, "I guess you'll be wanting this back."

And holds up Sam's laptop.

Cas smiles.

.

Time passes quickly as Castiel learns more and more about humanity. Dean is, after all, a very good teacher.

"No, Cas, cats don't _actually_ eat poptarts. Or shit rainbows."

"Uh… I think it's their names mixed together, to show that they're a couple or whatever. _Br_ from Brad plus Angelina equals Brangelina. Yeah."

"Cas, unless I've been totally wrong about you, you do _not_ want to meet 'single, busty Russians in your area.' Exit out of that now. Cas. Seriously. _Now_."

"I don't know, Cas. Why don't you go ask the pope yourse- CAS! I WAS KIDDING!"

.

"Cas?" Dean asks, voice and eyes blurred from sleep. He props up on his elbow, pushing the sheets down slightly.

Cas looks at him and says, "Hi, Dean," very short and matter-of-fact.

"…Have you been sitting there long?"

Cas thinks. "Define long."

"An hour?" Dean ballparks.

"Then yeah."

.

Cas's life slowly gets better.

Sam and Dean teach him how to do things like fire a gun and wield a machete. Eventually, they trust his abilities enough to start taking him on hunts.

He only does the small ones at first, like the salt-and-burns and the cursed objects. These cases work out surprisingly well, and Cas finally feels like he can fit in somewhere.

But everything changed when the demon attacked.

They weren't prepared at all—Sam was betting on ghost possession, Dean had his money on vengeful spirit. None of them had suspected that it was a lone demon, picking off townspeople to use for a bizarre ritualistic sacrifice to summon some bigger, badder demons.

Fabulous.

The minute they step foot into the room, Sam is thrown across the room and hit the wall with a smack. Cas and Dean whip around to find a tall, chubby-faced man with a plumber's uniform and tool belt and a wicked smile blocking the room's only exit.

"Well," Dean states cheerily, "That is _not_ a vengeful spirit."

He grows considerably less so when the man's eyes go black and he throws Dean across the room.

Castiel scrambles for a weapon but Sam has the demon knife and his angel blade flies out of his hand as the demon grabs him by the throat with both hands.

"The littlest angel," it hisses, a cruel smile etched on the plumber's face. "Tell me, _angel_, where are your brothers now?"

Cas struggles for air, kicking out at the demon feebly, but they both know it will do no good. Its grip on his neck is nearly enough to snap it.

"Pathetic," the demon sneers. "You are useless, Castiel. Worthless. Why do they bother keeping you around?"

Cas doesn't really know.

"Without your power, you are nothing."

Yes.

"Not so invincible now, are you, _angel?_" The demon cannot say the word without poison in its voice.

"No," comes a beautiful, wonderful voice from behind the demon as Castiel feels like he is going to asphyxiate, "But neither are you."

Cas sees the hand on the demon's shoulder, sees the knife plunging through its chest, sees the sparks fly through its eyes before he collapses on the ground in a heap and his consciousness leaves him.

.

He wakes up to ACDC.

"Dean." He doesn't know if the man hears him, because he is weak and the music is quite loud.

_Back in black, I hit the sack, I've been too long I'm glad to be back,_

"_Dean_." Louder. Still nothing.

_Yes I'm let loose, from the noose, that's kept me hanging about—_

"_Dean!"_

Finally the hunter turns around. "Holy sh— Cas! Thank God, man, I thought you were never gonna wake up."

Cas only feels slightly bad about this, because Dean _cares_.

"Can…" He has to strain himself to be heard over the bass line. "Can you turn that down, please?"

Dean immediately jumps on it. "Of course, man, of course."

The sudden silence leaves his ears ringing and Dean sits on the edge of his bed somewhat nervously.

"So. How you feeling?"

Cas can't meet Dean's eyes. "Fine. Better."

"Cas."

He doesn't have to see Dean's face to know he's wearing the _stop trying to bullshit the bullshitter_ face.

It's easy, Cas. Just look up, somewhere in the direction of his facial features, and—

Agh. His eyes. Why are they so damn trusting? It's like Cas can't do anything wrong. Like he hasn't done anything wrong. Like he's something special or—

A soft hand is placed on his neck, close to his shoulder but also close to his face, and then Dean's turning his head up so their eyes meet.

"Talk to me," Dean murmurs softly, and Cas' heart melts.

Swallowing the enormous lump in his throat, he manages to get out, "I used to be so much more than this."

Dean's face tightens into a scowl and for a moment Cas is afraid he's done something wrong again, but then Dean growls, "This is about what that demon said? Cas, don't you dare believe anything that son of a bitch told you."

"But—"

"You listen to me," Dean says angrily, wagging a finger in Cas' face semi-threateningly, "I don't care what anyone, in Heaven or Hell or anywhere in between, says about you. I don't care that you Fell, Sam doesn't care. We like you for _you_, man, not your powers. Honestly?" He sits back. "I couldn't give a rat's ass if you were an angel or not. You're my friend, one of my only friends, and you're like a brother to me. So don't you dare let anyone tell you you're worthless, you hear? If they do, I will kick them in the—well, wherever their species traditionally kicks things. Alright?"

Not for the first time since he's known Dean (and he knows it won't be the last), Castiel is speechless.

When he feels he can speak again all he manages is, "Dean…"

The motel room door swings open. Dean jumps a foot in the air and quickly backpedals away from Cas' personal space.

"Hey guys!" Sam starts cheerily. "I think I've got some leads on that demo—what are you doing?" he breaks off, finally noticing Cas and Dean's proximity.

Dean stutters.

Cas gazes up at him, completely innocent, and states, "Ventriloquism."

Sam and Dean both stare at him.

Castiel keeps his face easy and honest to the point where Sam just feels like he's missed something and doesn't want to appear stupid, and quickly covers with, "That's… cool."

There's a silence during which Cas reflects on embarrassment and the gracious fact that Jimmy Novak's cheeks do not redden easily.

"So, anyway…" Sam trails off, unsure of how to continue. "I bought pie?"

Dean's head snaps to him immediately. "Pie?"

The boys move toward the table, bickering about pie, and Cas watches with a small smile, thanking whatever gods may be for John Mitchell.

.

They're on a different hunt now, vampires. Dean is hacking at necks furiously, his machete a streaking silver death note. Sam is holding his own and they're both slightly protecting Cas, which is slightly admirable but not necessary. Cas sneaks around the fight, hoping to attack the nest from behind.

He takes out two or three considerably easily before he sees Sam's machete fly out of his hand. He tosses his to Sam, but it clatters out of his grasp. Sam stumbles backward, reaching out for the blade while keeping his eyes on the vamp, but it's clear to Cas that Sam won't get to the weapon in time.

Disarmed and powerless, Castiel does the only thing he can think of.

Sam, lying on the ground, is preparing for a bloody end when he hears a defiant shout of, "Have some of my chair!"

The vampire falls and Sam can see Cas now, standing over the bloodsucker lifting an office chair above his head like it's the World Cup.

All he think to say is, "Chair, Cas?"

The angel shrugs more nonchalantly than Sam thought was possible and replies, "Chairs are seriously underestimated weapons."

Castiel retrieves his machete as Dean finishes off the last of the vamps and considers it a good day's work.

.

Dean knows something's wrong when Cas has been in the bathroom for an hour. Considering Cas never _uses_ the bathroom, he doesn't know why Cas wouldn't see that as vaguely suspicious.

Tentatively, he taps on the door. "Cas? You okay?"

There is, of course, no answer.

"Cas, I know you're in there."

"Cas, just tell me that you're okay and I'll leave you alone…"

"Castiel, I swear I will break this door down."

"Alright, I'm gonna pick the lock now…"

"Seriously, man, just open the damn door."

"Cas."

"_Cas."_

The ex-angel finally opens the door as Dean is picking the lock with an unbent hanger. Dean's gaze snaps upward to take in Cas's stark white and tearstained face.

Tearstained. He was actually _crying_.

_What?_

He stands up slowly, meeting Cas's eyes. He can see the man quivering.

What the hell?

Eventually, his brain catches up enough to ask, "You alright?"

Cas's lower lip trembles and he gasps out, "They're dead, Dean!"

And bursts into tears.

Um.

Hesitantly, he pulls Cas into a hug. The trenchcoated man sobs on his chest, and Dean is still completely bewildered.

After a few minutes of listening to Cas's hiccupping cries, Dean works up the nerve to gently ask, "Who's dead, Cas?"

"M-mitchell and-d George and An-n-nie!" his angel sputters before burying his face in Dean's shoulder again.

"Um…" Dean recognizes those names for some reason, but they've never met anyone named Mitchell or Annie—hold on.

"Wait—you mean those dudes from your show? _That's_ what this is about?"

He feels Cas nod.

"I—um, I'm sorry, man… wait, wasn't Annie a ghost?" Cas tried to give him the rundown, but the idea of purposefully watching a show with a vampire, werewolf, and ghost didn't sit well with him. "So wasn't she technically already dead?"

Cas glares. This probably isn't helping his mood. "But she fulfilled her p-purpose, the reason she stayed behind, so now she's g-gone! They're all gone and Hal and Alex and Tom _aren't going to cut it!"_

"I'm sorry, man," the hunter apologizes, genuine for the first time. "I know how much they meant to you."

Dean awkwardly pats Cas's back for a few minutes while the angel calms down.

Castiel sets his jaw, suddenly resolute. "We have to do something, Dean."

"Um, Cas, buddy, I don't know if you realize how television works, but there's no way to get them back…"

"Not like that, Dean," Cas says, and rolls his eyes and _hey_, sassy Cassy is back. "We need to honor their memory."

Dean licks his bottom lip nervously. "What type of honor are we talking, here? I mean, I'm all for making you feel better, but we can't do anything… too crazy.

Dean sees renewed vigor in Cas's expression. "Oh, I know just what to do."

He looks on apprehensively. "…what?"

Cas grins, a mischievous spark in his eye. "How do you feel about IKEA?"

.

"Cas, this is ridiculous."

"What?" the angel asks innocently, doing that puppy dog head tilt that Dean can't say no to.

They're both dressed completely in black, down to the ski masks completely covering their faces. Well, almost completely. Dean can't see that there's a large amount of skin showing around his lower lip that makes him look funny. Cas moves to adjust it, making Dean squirm at his touch.

"Look," Cas says in his best _explaining things to a particularly slow preschooler_ voice. "We just need to stick to the plan."

"The plan _sucks_, Cas," Dean interjected. Cas glared.

"You said you'd help me," he mutters, a disapproving expression set on his features. "You promised."

"I know I promised," Dean snaps, regretting even _listening _to the plan. "But this? This is insane."

"Sam's up for it," Cas reminds him.

"_Sam_ is going to be sitting in the motel, not vandalizing a store!"

"Dean, you've vandalized more important things before."

"That's not the point!" he exclaims. "I just don't think it's right to completely destroy a store for the sake of some TV show characters!"

Cas gives him the puppy dog eyes.

"Cas. Come on, you know that won't work."

Cas, though it seems impossible, does the eyes harder.

"Cas."

And somehow they're even bigger and pleading than before.

"Oh godammit FINE!"

The angel smiles.

.

"Clarence to Base One, Clarence to Base One, over."

The walkie talkie crinkles and then he hears, "_You know we're not spies, right, Cas?"_

"I can have dreams, can't I?" he backsasses. Never let it be said that he didn't learn anything from George.

Dean snorts.

They're camped out in the car, watching the local IKEA from a distance. Sam's back at the motel, laptop in hand.

"Base One, do you have the loop set, over?"

He can _feel_ Sam's exasperated sigh before the younger Winchester replies, "Base One to Clarence, the loop is in place, over."

Cas grins, and Dean's never seen him this excited. He can't help but grin, because Cas happy is an amazing sight.

"Alright," Cas says into the walkie talkie, "We're going in."

"Good luck," Sam tells them, and Cas knows he's smirking, but he can't find it within himself to care. He's having too much fun.

"Over," he adds, last minute, before Cas switches the walkie talkie to silent.

He looks to Dean, who nods once. Then they attack.

.

Cas leads the way to the door, scoping the perimeter exaggeratedly before flattening himself against the wall. His head snaps right, left before he inches along the wall toward the door.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

He looks over to see Dean walking, completely normally, toward the door.

"What are _you_ doing?!" he hisses. "You're going to blow our cover!"

"There's no one here, man." Dean looks at him like he's grown another head. "And Sam looped the cameras, right? So no one is going to know we were here. Calm down. Let's just do this and get out of here."

Cas scowls. "Fine."

.

The next few days, the media is in uproar.

Apparently, an anonymous criminal or criminal group managed to break into IKEA's database and switch every single one of its serial numbers, destroying the original program so that all of the real numbers were lost. IKEA lost hundreds of thousands of dollars over the week while the company's technicians frantically scrambled to rewrite the coding for the website, and customers everywhere were in an uproar.

But the most curious part of the equation was an IKEA that seemed to be the epicenter of the disaster, a seemingly random spot in Iowa. This IKEA had been vandalized, all of its serial tags stolen. Customers had no way of checking out items, and the store was closed for two weeks while the problem was sorted. Most interesting was the red spray painted message in the center of the room—

_For Mitchell, George, and Annie_

_RIP_

_._

END

.

_So, Sydney, you crazy bitch, I hope you're happy with your commissioned piece. I mean, you better be, cuz this is 14 pages long and took a long time and serious research about a show I've never seen. So you will be happy, or I swear…_

_Well, that's it! I don't know if anyone actually exists in the Being Human/Supernatural crossovers section but if you do and you've made it through this, I congratulate you! Questions, comments, or concerns, the review box is open! Or, shoot me a PM and I'll answer any questions you've got._

_Thanks a bunch,_

_ruerox11_


End file.
